Memory Transcription Subject: Chiri, Gojid Refugee

  Date [standardized human time]: November 1, 2136

  David had just informed me that life among predators was mundane. I didn’t have to hunt or kill or even eat meat unless I chose to. If I really wanted to, I could even keep working at a distillery, like I’d always planned. I might have defected to the side of the predators, but somehow nothing about how I lived my life had to change? How was I supposed to process that? I didn’t know what to do with the information.

  I mean, what you do with that information is you throw the premise back in his stupid beautiful face.

  …wait, his what?

  Really not the important part of that sentence.

  I grumbled, but accepted the point.

  Look, I know you don’t like me. Like, by definition. I’m the self-critical part of your brain where you’ve also indelicately crammed all the thoughts that you don’t want to deal with. That includes the events on the cradle.

  I flinched, and tried to shove those memories back in the corner.

  Quit it! You’re gonna break something again! I’m not gonna go into too much detail, but there are facts relevant to this conversation. If I may summarize? When the Arxur came, we Gojids panicked, and hid, and fled, and stampeded. Humans, by contrast, aborted their own invasion and ran INTO danger, reflexively, to save civilians and children. They fought harder to protect our people as a hostile invading force than our own military did, and we had one of the best fucking militaries in the Federation.

  Seriously. For all the ways that things went horribly wrong afterwards, the Gojid Union was the defensive powerhouse of this sector, and the humans kicked our asses with a couple untested prototypes and some rusted-out Venlil surplus. The notion that there’s nothing special about humanity? That this is all normal and mundane? It's a fucking absurdity.

  You want to entertain the idea that their diet of flesh and blood isn’t the be-all and end-all? Fine. It's not like we know a ton about ecology and nutrition besides what the Kolshians forced us to believe. But there’s clearly something else at work here. Something about human culture or instincts that’s weird and unlike anything we’ve encountered before. Something powerful that we need to learn and take for ourselves if we ever plan to be strong on our own.

  So what do I do in the meantime?

  Stick to the plan. Learn to become a better predator. Just keep in mind that it might not work the way we think it works. Anyway, say something. He's starting to stare.

  "I dunno," I managed to mumble audibly. "It's a lot to think about." My skin prickled, goosebumps heralding that the odder voice still had an opinion to share.

  Predators are accursed beings, cast out by the gods. We know this as a matter of faith. Scripture teaches us that this was a punishment for how they would defile themselves with the taste of flesh, but it seems that the scriptures have been tampered with. Let us not be so arrogant as to presume to truly know the gods' motives, then. There are forces at work here beyond our understanding. Nevertheless… what an enviable state of being, to be so powerful and dangerous that you merit divine intercession.

  …is David dangerous?

  There was a long pause before the quiet voice responded.

  Not to you.

  “Well,” said David, “you mentioned you liked mixing new flavors. We certainly do a lot of that here.” He nodded to the martini he’d placed in front of me. It smelled bright and a touch briney, like a seaside evergreen forest. The taste of it buzzed, and my nose wrinkled at it.

  “This one’s pretty similar to the gin alone,” I said, unimpressed.

  David shrugged. “It’s a classic. That’s not the same as good, though.” He leaned forward to study me. “How would you do it differently?”

  I sniffed at the cocktail again, and took another sip. What did it need? “Well, based on the little fruits you showed me earlier, the gin seems like it pairs better with sweet and sour flavors than with salty ones. Of the two, the lemon felt like it had more depth than the cherry, though, so maybe lemon and just sugar to keep it simple?” I took one last sip, and flinched slightly. “These have all been pretty strong, though. I’m not a Venlil. Maybe something more diluted?” I perked up. “Oh, or bubbly! Do you guys do sparkling wine?”

  David stared at me, eyes wide, like I’d grown a second head. “You… you just described a Tom Collins,” he said. “Or a French 75. Gin, lemon, and sugar over sparkling water or sparkling wine, respectively.” He shook his head. “You seriously didn’t even know what a mixed drink was an hour ago?”

  Smells like opportunity.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Nope,” I said. I carefully held eye contact in spite of my sudden nerves wanting me to look away. “It just… I dunno, the flavors made sense to me. Is that weird?”

  David laughed. “I mean, I didn’t have ‘alien cocktail prodigy’ on my 2136 Bingo card, but I’ll happily take it.” He fussed with his hololenses for a moment. “And I’m short a bartender, if you need a job for a bit. I can teach you the basics. You seem like a quick study.”

  Agree! shouted the quiet voice.

  You legally can’t agree, muttered the critical voice.

  “I don’t have any other plans yet, and I want to say yes,” I said, “but I don’t have my immigration paperwork sorted out yet.”

  David laughed harder. “Oh no! Incomplete immigration paperwork! That’s never happened in a New York restaurant before!” He waved away my concerns. “I can sort that out for you if you’re worried. It’s probably not as big a deal as you’d think.” His face abruptly went stony. “Actually, on second thought, I’ll make a point of sorting that out sooner rather than later.”

  That’s suspicious. If I could conjure up any idea of how to follow up on that tactfully, I’d probably suggest doing so.

  Tact isn’t that hard. What’s stopping us?

  You’ve had two shots, a glass of wine, and now you’re on your second cocktail. Either slow the fuck down, or get ready to finish this conversation on blind, delirious instinct.

  I reached for my glass of water, and tried to think things through while I rehydrated. I’d just lucked into a predator-mentor, a job that let me explore my passions, and a reason to stick around the guy I was crushing on. Most productive late-night escapade in history. What was even left for me to want?

  Shelter, technically, said the practical voice.

  Romance, if he has merit, said the quieter one.

  Why not both, then? said the suddenly too-practical voice. If you sleep with him, the bed and the roof come included.

  My cheeks flushed blue with embarrassment.

  What the fuck, brain! I just think he’s cute and interesting! I’m still sorting out how I feel beyond that. Stop skipping ahead to the end!

  Oh! Wait, why are you talking to us, then? Talk to him.

  About what? I need a topic!

  Talk to him about how world-shattering this has all been, said the odd voice, and how it’s making you reevaluate your faith. Be honest, and help him understand what you’re going through.

  Ask him about himself, said the practical voice. People like talking about themselves, and you’re curious about him and his people anyway.

  I cleared my throat. “I think I lost my religion, can I borrow yours?”

  Are you fucking kidding me.

  David laughed. “I don’t know if I have one at present,” he said. “I can help you shop around, though, if you’re interested. What are you looking for in a new faith?”

  I chuckled along nervously, glad he took it as a joke. “I dunno, but now I’m curious: if I said ‘blood’, would you have anything for me?”

  David rubbed his chin scruff. “Well, there’s a locally popular religion called Christianity that comes to mind. They ritualistically consume the flesh and blood of their god every weekend.”

  I perked up at that. “Hahaha holy shit!” I said, laughing in surprise. “How did you pull off keeping that one quiet from the Venlil?”

  "By making it illegal to tell them!" David said, laughing. “Besides, it’s just a ritual, so they use bread and wine as a stand-in.”

  I laughed, glancing at the bread and empty wine glasses on the table. “Why? Is their god a pastry?” I joked. I recalled a thought I had earlier. "Oh! You guys do pastries, right?"

  “Of course!” said David, smiling. “Baking is a slightly adjacent skillset to cooking, but just like mixing drinks, I can manage alright. Little time-consuming to throw something together tonight, but if you want to tag along on the river trip, they’ll probably still be selling apple turnovers upstate.”

  I plucked up some fruit and nuts from the platter, and tried not to look too glum. “I don’t think I’m that good of a swimmer, sadly.”

  David blinked. “Well, I mean, I am a pretty good swimmer,” he said, smiling wryly, “but since it’s like eighty miles north, I was planning on taking a boat.”

  “Oh! Yeah, that makes way more sense,” I said. “Didn’t realize you had access to a boat.”

  David shrugged. “It’s my cousin’s, technically, but I borrowed it. How else was I gonna get back here with all the roads out?”

  I looked out the window behind me at the fields of ruin. “Walk here from the bomb shelter like I did?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, I was visiting family in Jersey, across the bay to the south. You can just barely make it out on the horizon on a clear day.” He sighed, looking a bit deflated himself. “But yeah, I dunno. Visiting family just seemed like the sort of thing you ought to do if the world’s about to end, you know?”

  Don’t think about it.

  I shuddered slightly. Baby steps. “Didn’t get the chance,” I said softly. “I was studying in the city when the cradle fell. Our orchard was out in the countryside. I don’t know if my family made it out.” I blinked away some tears before they got too out of control. “Probably never will.”

  "Oh," said David. "I'm so sorry. Hopefully they'll turn up soon, but…" He shook his head. "Let me know what I can do to help."

  I shook my head. "There's nothing I can do about it, so I mostly just… don't want to think about it for a little while longer." I perked up and tried a smaller smile on. "Besides, you're already helping me plenty, boss!"

  David nearly choked on his martini, he laughed so hard. "Sorry. That was just too cute. Chiri, you don't have to call me that when the restaurant's closed," he said, wiping gin and happy tears from his face. "And it's 'Chef', in any event."

  "Yes, chef!" I said, doing my best mock salute.

  He cracked up again. "You think you're kidding, but you actually got it right that time. Still, we're not open yet." He smiled warmly. "Don't worry, though. I'm happy to show you whatever you need to know."

  I think I smiled earnestly. "I'll hold you to that." I reached for a cheese I hadn't tried before. "Oh! And you can start by telling me more about the pastry god!"